£64 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Johh 8, 1888. 



1 



A BUNCH OF WILD CELERY. 



LIFE in Argentina was growing stale. The round of 

 diurnal horse-racing and dog-fighting, and nocturnal 

 poker and faro-playing, varied with an occasional shooting 

 scrape, and its concomitant lynching, had begun to be mo- 

 notonous, and it was with a feeling of relief that, one morn- 

 ing, I saw Ignotus stroll into the office, and heard hira make 

 the proposition of a week's hunt in Cimarron Park. The 

 offer was closed with, almost before he had finished speak- 

 ing, and the rest of the day was spent in gathering together 

 camp impedimenta, reloading cartridges, and making gen- 

 eral preparations for a plunge into savagery. 



I was born twins, and just then Esau, the hairy hunter, 

 held the whip-hand over Jacob, the more pacific dweller in 

 tents. In fact, I find, as a general thing, that Esau docs 

 rather predominate, and that the meeker Jacob very seldom 

 finds an opportunity to enjoy his heirship, and when he does 

 the elder brother usually finds that he has sold his birthright 

 for a very watery megs of pottage. 



The sun had just flung his first defiant lance at the head of 

 El Rey, as our cavalcade started. "We were seven" — at 

 least the unanointed eyes of common mortals would have 

 only taken cognizance of Huz and Buz, Rob and Rena, 

 Bwipes, Ignotus, and myself— catalogued thus in the order 

 of their relative importance. In fact, however, there were 

 several more of us, whom only the initiate could see. Esau 

 and Jacob rode double on Rena's back, while, perched on 

 pommel and crupper of Ignotus's saddle, sat Fun and Laugh- 

 ter, and Song and Wood-craft. Even Swipes was tri-unc— 

 and, wrapped up in one yellow hide, there trotted or scamp- 

 ered on before us, (he Frolicsome Puppy, the Stanch Bear- 

 fighter, and the Cynic Philosopher. No wonder, that before 

 such a composite crew, the. " camp-robbers " flew screaming 

 away, and the chipmunk darted hurriedly into his hole. 



The first half mile down the vahey was merry enough, but 

 when we turned to the left, and began climbing the flank ol 

 El Key, then "trouble began." Have you ever been over that 

 trail? If you have, and arc still alive, you know what it is— 

 if not, take Punch's advice to people contemplating matrimony 

 — "Don't." Tilt up a hillside to an angle of about fiftv de- 

 crees— gash it in all directions with rifts and chasms— tum- 

 ble upon it millions of cart-loads of rock, of all dimensions, 

 from a muscle-shell to a meeting-house— fill up all interstices 

 with giant spruce trees— turn loose in the forest so created a 

 doaen rotary, back-action, bevel-geared, saw-toothed whirl- 

 winds—run a fire through the deadfall till half the prostrate 

 trunks are consumed, and the ground is a foot deep in ashes 

 — pull the string of heaven's water-cart, and deluge the whole 

 thing for about a week — and then introduce an active, y.ung 

 earthquake, to shake up and overturn anything that may be 

 accidentally left in its normal position — and the final result 

 would be a faint shadow of a shade of what we found the Ei 

 Rey trail to be. But — 



"Ab all things cease to he — 



As no life lasts forever— 



As e'en the dreariest river 



Winds somewhere out to sea," 



so even this El Rey trail ended at last, and we found our- 

 selves on Bone-break Mesa. 



Seen from a distance, this portion of the range looks like 

 a lazy giant, prone upon his back, one foot and leg drawn 

 partially up, his clasped hands beneath his head, elbows pro- 

 jecting skyward, and face turned dreamily toward the woo- 

 ing South" On the instep of the drawn-up foot lies Argen- 

 tum— the leg up to the knee is El Rey, where Bone-break 

 Me«a sweeps gently up to Cimarron Park, which lies upon 

 the breast, guarded on either side by the uplifted elbows oi 

 Dos llermanos (the twins), and overlooked by the mighty 

 face of El Conquistador. We had reached the knee, and 

 here, by a spring, we stopped for lunch. Through hollow 

 stalks of wild parsley, we sucked the clear, cold water, and 

 revelled in the mild intoxication of unnumbered cocktails ol 

 genuine Mountain Dew. Under similar circumstances once 

 The Rhymer's brain had been so affected by the potency of 

 the draught, that he had/tffervesced in the following lines, 

 wkioh he called 'V-. Z"~Z2 •"*• ~'.^.__ ..■„ 



A SONG OF A SPRING *" 



Born of the cloud and the dew, 

 Daughter of Frost and Snow, 

 Nursed in the Ether blue, 



Where the cooliDg North-winds blow- 

 Torn from the iceberg's crest, 



Suoked from the fens of the South, 

 Out of the wastes of the West, 



Up from the harbor's mouth — 

 Gathered and swept along 



By the rush of a rolling world, 

 Where the planets hush their song. 



And the lightning's wing is furled— 

 Oaught on the mountain's peak, 



Held by the slippery crag, 

 Kissing the rough rock's cheek. 



Cooling the scoria slag- 

 Threading the crevices dark 



Of the caverns underground, 

 "Where the Pixies' magic mark 

 On the shining ore is found- 

 Away from the light of the sun. 



Freed from the upper heat, 

 I orawl and fly and run 



With neither wings nor feet, 

 Till I leap from the mountains' aid* 



In a burst of riotous glee, 

 And haste with a jubilant prida 

 To join my Mother, the Sea. 



Luncheon over, and while the horses were enjoying their 

 dinner of native timothy and clover, we made our dessert 

 upon the wild celery which grew in profusion around. 

 What the Alpine strawberry is to the Triomphe de Gand— 

 the sweet brier to the Marecbal Niel — crab cider to Virginia 

 inple jack— is the mountain celery to its fat, pampered, 

 pvergrown, civilized compeer. It has a tang peculiarly its 

 twn — a woodsy flavor that contains within itself all the 

 possibilities of taste. To the eye it is "a thing of beauty 

 and a joy forever." 



The pure sea green of its deer ly pinnatifld leaf contrasts 

 well with the angelica white of its supporting stalk. It has 

 an »dor suggestive of the nutty flavor of the mushroom, the 



faint aroma of upturned soil, the bouquet of long imprisoned 

 Lachyma Christi, of everything that is dainty, sweet and 

 wholesome. There is something elusive about U, as though 

 it wore too shy to yield itself directly. As some stars can 

 only bo seen when not directly looked at, so the fragrance of 

 the wild celery can be caught only by a sidelong approach. 

 Snuff it boldly and coarsely, as you would a bottle of cheap 

 perfume, and you miss it entirely. 



Coy as a wood nymph, it flies the too bold wooer, and 

 bestows itself only upon the modest suitor. Ethereal, deli- 

 cate, penetrating, this fragrance appeals to and excites your 

 appetite, even before you take the stalk into your mouth, 

 and then the taste reenforces the smell. As the crisp white 

 stalks crackle between your teeth, you absorb the glow of 

 the sun upon the mountain-tops, the coolness of the snow 

 under eaves of overhanging rocks, the virile strength of the 

 rich loamy soil in which it grows, and the freshness of the 

 breeze which kisses its feathery fronds. Like a trout, it 

 must be eaten when first canght — while still cool and moist 

 with the juices of the soil. Salt degrades it— we 'ried it 

 once, then prayed for pardon, and promised to sin no more. 

 The eater of it knows no surfeit — the appetite grows with 

 what it feeds upon. It titillates the nerves of the palate, so 

 that each crisp morsel tastes better than the last. No won- 

 der the gods of old c hose Mt. Olympus for their dwelling, if 

 peradventure they found t lere the wild celery. A diet of 

 such etherialized food would soon cleanse one's veiDS of 

 grosser stuff, and fill them with celestial ichor. One's 

 thoughts, too, could but be sweeter and purer — for it 

 "ascends me into the brain, and purges me therefrom the 

 crude vapors which do befog mine intellects." 



Refreshed and strengthened by our meal of ambrosia and 

 neotar, we girded up our loins and struck out across Bone- 

 break Mesa for Cimarron Park. Whence this mesa derives 

 its name, I know not, for an easier route to travel lies not in 

 these mountains. Picture to yourself an elevated table-land, 

 from two to three thousands yards wide, and about fifteen 

 miles long, covered with gramma and bunch grass, and 

 dotted with clumps of spruces and Canada firs, undulating 

 gently as the sea bellies and swells the day after a storm, and 

 you will wonder, as did we, how so grimly suggestive a name 

 dver came to be applied to so beautiful a piece of landscape. 

 Ignotus suggested that Bonebreak was probably a perversion 

 of Backbone, which theory seemed likely, as it certainly 

 resembled that portion of the human anatomy, the trans- 

 verse ridges which sloped down into the valley on either side, 

 simulating the ribs, and the gulches between them doing 

 duty for the intercostal spaces. The backbone of the 

 American continent it is, at any rate — a portion of the grand 

 water-shed which separates Oriental and Occidental Colum- 

 bia. That rain-cloud sailiug hitherward from between the 

 peaks of Dos Hermanos, and which will soon go to pieces on 

 the crags of El Conquistador, as an East Indiaman is split on 

 the tusks of Norman's Woe, carries a cargo, one half of 

 which will eventually be mingled with the waters of the 

 Gulf Stream, while the other half will find its way through 

 the tortuous canons of the Colorado, into the stiller waters of 

 the sun kissed Pacific. Here the East and the West join 

 nands; yonder is Wall Street, off here lies the Golden Gate. 

 On both sides Civilization with its " auri sacra fames" — the 

 Celt and the Teuton pressing Westward, the Mongolian hur- 

 rying to the East. Hemmed in on all sides by the wall 

 which Plutus builds, here Nature stands at bay, fleeing for 

 refuge to the hills, and the caves of the rocks. Hard pressed 

 is she even here, for the smoke of the smelters clogs her 

 oreath, and the clang of the stamp mills and the rumble of the 

 axastras deafen her. Resistless as Fate, the circle of her 

 enemies is closing in upon her; traitors are in her very camp, 

 m her ultimate stronghold and fortress: even we, who are 

 oemoaning her sad fate, are guiltily speculating upon possi- 

 bilities of fabulous mineral wealth concealed in yonder rocky 

 fastnesses. Whip and spur, Ignotus, if haply a dash over 

 these breezy downs may sweep away this dank fog of fore- 

 boding! 



A spurt of a mile or so, and we draw rein to wait the ar- 

 rival of Huz and Buz, who, undisturbed by our vagaries, are 

 quietly plodding along under their bulky packs. Too well 

 trained are they to stray from the trail, or even to hurry 

 their pace, although their foolish human masters may cavort 

 hither and yon in senseless sport. "Business is business" 

 with them, and they attend to it strictly, looking forward to 

 the end of the route, when comes release from their burdens, 

 and a temporary "surcease of sorrow." 



While waiting for them to come up, something in the little 

 grove of firs to our right attracts the attention of Swipes, 

 who with starboard ear cocked gallantly forward, sails boldly 

 off to reconnoiter. Under the butt of a fallen tree is crouched 

 something which his well trained nose and eyes proclaim to 

 be a stranger to him. "Bears I know, and rabbits I know; 

 wolves and wild cats have not escaped me: even the fragrant 

 Mephitis Americana has not been unknown to me, but, in the 

 name of Canis Major, or of dog-headed Anubis, what are 

 you?" So queries Swipes, with many significant 'woofs.'", 

 and much indecisive signalling of his remnant of a tail. 

 Alas I with him, as with many of his wiser (?) two legged 

 brethren, discretion proves the worsen- part of valor, and a 

 plucky dash at the unknown foe is followed by a sudden 

 retrograde movement, accompatned by a wild pawing at 

 mouth and nose, and whines of astonishment and pain. 



"Porcupine !" quoth Ignotus, and his assertion is corrob- 

 orated by the return of Swipes, wearing a false moustache of 

 black and white quills, while he vents his feelings in sup- 

 pressed canine profanity. ' if it had bit, or clawed, or 

 scratched, I wouldn't have minded it, but who ever saw a 

 beast with a hide full of hornet stings?" 



Nor are his wounded feelings healed till Ignotus, having 

 relieved him as far as possible of the barbed quills, kills the 

 porcupine with a blow on the head, and allows him to wreak 

 his wrath on the dead body of his foe. As the raging 

 Achilles, having dragged the mangled coipse of Hector 

 thrice around the walls of Troy, thus feels his terrible 

 wrath assuaged, and yields to Priam's prayers, so Swipes 

 finally yields to our persuasive whistling;, and leaving the 

 gory body of his victim, trots on behind us, more composed, 

 though we still hear him swearing softly under his breath, 

 as every now and then there recurs to him the memory of 

 the scurvy treatment he has received. (Next morning he 

 looks as though some one had "put a head on him," three 

 sizes too large, his swollen chops and muzzle puffed out to 

 such an abnormal bigness, that, albeit we pity, we cannot 

 refrain from such a cachinnatory peal that he retires from 

 the camp-fire in high dudgeon, nor will he bo appeased till 

 Ignotus humbly propitiates him with a grouse leg deftly 

 broiled, and choice tidbits of liver and wing). The skirmish 

 over, we ride slowly on to camp, no further incident disturb- 

 ing the calm serenity of the perfect day. 



After supper, while smoking the contemplative brier root, 



prepatory to turning In, I suddenly became aware of Ysices 

 down the creek. The words were indistinguishable, but I 

 clearly heard the mellow bass of a man, interrupted now 

 and then, by a sound that was startling in that wild neigh- 

 borhood — the rippling laugh of a girl. I stared at Ignotus 

 in amazement. He, smiling quietly — 



"What you hear is not the vox humana, but simply the 

 Spirit of the Tallula talking to Dos Hermanos." 



"What do you mean? Have you gone clean daft?" 



"No: but I tell you no human larynx makes those sounds. 

 I have heard them often, and especially here. Echo plux 

 imagination, that's all. Don't believe it? Then go and find 

 the talkers," which I did, or rather tried to do; but the de- 

 lusive voices retreated as I advanced, leading me further into 

 the sombre darkness of the spruce woods, as Will o' the Wisp 

 and Jack o' Lantern decoy the credulous rustic into bottom- 

 less morasses. Returning baffled, Ignotus met me with gen- 

 tle gibing, insisting that the dust of the town still stopped 

 my ears, and that my mistress. Nature, would not believe in 

 the fervency of my devotion so long as I mistook her mellow 

 accents for the grosser voices of humanity. 



Awaking early next morning, we started out, Ignotus to 

 the peak for sheep, I to the edge' of the park for deer. But 

 the beauty of the dawn soon laid its spell upon me, and, lay- 

 ing my rifle aside, I stretched myself at the foot of a clump 

 of spruces, singing, with the melancholy Jacques, in spirit 

 at least, if not in words, 



"Under the greenwood tree 



Who loves to lie with mo 



And tune his throat 



To the wild bird's note, 

 Come hither, come hither, come hither: 



Here shall he see 



No enemy 

 But winter and rough weather. 



Who doth ambition shun 



And loves to lie in the sun, 



Seeking the food ha eats, 



And pleased with what he geta, 

 Come hither, come hither, oome hither; 



Here shall he sea 



No enemy 

 But winter and rough weather." 



Lookingacross the grassy sea of the park to the buttressed 

 peaks of Dos Hermanos, I was struck with the mingled 

 wealth and poverty displayed by Nature in the selection of 

 pigments for her mountain landscapes. Circumscribed in 

 the number of distinct colors, she revels in the boundless 

 variety of shades. In that peak that rises before me, she is 

 limited to grays and browns, but what endless combinations 

 and varying tints! Think of any shade of those two colors, 

 that you will, wide apart, or varying by almost impercepti- 

 ble differences, and there they are before you. All the names 

 familiar to painters — drab, chocolate, umbers and siennas, 

 burnt and raw, russet, bistre, madder, cassel, cappah, van- 

 dyke, ashes-of-rose, pearl or silver gray — find their correla- 

 tive colors on those crags. And then the depth and the rich- 

 ness of her hues ! Look at that sky] You never saw blue 

 before! It is no pale, languid, pulseless, skim-milk color, 

 but a deep and vivid ultra-marine, a blue which glows and 

 shines with a scintillant lustre, the blue of the heaven that 

 gleams in the eyes of the woman you love. To "have the 

 blues," were they such as shine above us here, would be to 

 be permeated with a wealth, a softness, a glory of mingled 

 purity and passion that would transfigure one's "whole being. 

 Our Eastern skies in their beBt estate, give one the idea of an 

 over-arching canopy, blue-washed by some cunning artificer, 

 through which, if one had a stick long enough, he could 

 punch a hole, and see what lay above; but here, one for the 

 first time grasps the idea of infinite space, as he gazes up- 

 ward into the blue immensity, and the effect of immeasura- 

 ble distance slowly grows upon him. As the eye must grad- 

 ually become accustomed to the obscurity of a darkened 

 room, ere it can distinguish objects therein, so here, the men- 

 tal, if not the physical iris dilates, as the vision penetrates 

 further and f urther into the illimitable depths of azure. 

 Lucky for me I am not a painter, or I would dash my color 

 box to pieces, in despair of ever being able to match this won- 

 drous color with my paltry combinations of ground dirt and 

 unsavory oils. 



Not so delightsome to the eye are the greens— with the 

 exception of that of the wild celery, of which I have before 

 spoken. The spruces are dark and dingy — a melancholy, 

 rusty hue that Beta the teeth on edge like the filing of a saw. 

 Early in the spring the quaking asp (Populus tremutaulas) 

 shows a delicate pea-green tint for a day or two, but it, too, 

 soon becomes blotched and dirty. (Where Bierstadt and 

 Moran get the wild emerald green of the foliage in their 

 paintings of the Rockies, I am at a loss to conceive, unless 

 they "evolve it out of the depths of their inner conscious- 

 ness." At any rate, I never saw such tints in these ranges, 

 and I know them pretty well from Flathead Pass to the Mo- 

 gollon Sierra.) 



While noting the colors, 1 found myself the focus of at- 

 tention of some "camp-robbers" of an enquiring turn of 

 mind. One, especially, was as fussily active as though ha 

 were a member of a Congressional Investigating Committee. 

 At first he contents himself with advising me to go home 

 "qui-ick!'— "qui-ick!!" iu a sympathetieo-monitory, and 

 then in a more decided and didactic way. Finding that I 

 receive his well-meant advice in silence, he becomes derisive 

 — makes sport of me — points the feather of scorn at my 

 outre appearance — makes uncomplimentary allusions to my 

 personnel, and even hints darkly that I am no better than I 

 should be. Failing still to move me, he waxes indignant. 

 pours out a flood of Billingsgate at me, scolds like a fish- 

 wife, rages like a Moenad, even, I am convinced, swears like 

 a pirate, in whatsoever avian oaths he can " lay his tongue 

 to." Exhausted by his own efforts, or perhap3, awed by the 

 calm imperturbability with which I receive his demonstrations, 

 his mood changes; he becomes silently contemplative — ex- 

 amines me from every point of view, with many a grave turn- 

 ing of the head, and a half -suppressed ' 'lawk" of mingled won- 

 der and dread— scratches his bill doubtfully , and seems disposed 

 to give me up generally as a thing beyond his ken. At this 

 moment, I lower the field glasses, through which I have 

 been studying him, when he nearly falls off Ens perch iu u 

 spasm of terror — and then scurries panic-stricken away 

 filling the air with clamorous shrieks of fear, li he ever rt 

 covers from the shock, and does not die a raving maniao, 

 he will no doubt, in years to come, be hailed as the cham 

 pion liar of Cimarron Park, when he tells his wondrous 

 yarn about the monster he once saw, which looked like a 

 man, but had a double-barreled no»e which it could put on 

 or take off at pleasure. 



